


Eros

by you_make_me_wander



Series: Destined flames [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bad Decisions, College, Comfort, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Friendship, Loss, Love, References to Previous Characters' Deaths, Romance, Sexual Content, Soulmates, Strangers, Strangers to Lovers to Anchors to Friends to Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_make_me_wander/pseuds/you_make_me_wander
Summary: Stiles and Lydia find in lust the escape they so often need because they think they don’t deserve love. But what if they do? Strangers/Soulmates/College AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Leah, Giulia and Olivia (grounderstiles, lydias-martin and lydiamartinu on tumblr, respectively) for beta-ing this for me. You guys are incredible!
> 
> And of course to bebethsas, to whom this work is dedicated AND who’s pretty much my other half. God knows why she puts up with me as it is, and truly a great deal of my inspiration comes from the headcanons and fic ideas we throw back and forth, so thank you for that as well. Honey, may we discuss smutty and fluffy Stydia until the end of our days!

“If Love's a Sweet Passion, why does it torment?  
If a Bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content?  
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,  
Or grieve at my Fate, when I know 'tis in vain?  
Yet so pleasing the Pain is, so soft is the Dart,  
That at once it both wounds me, and Tickles my Heart.”

\- "If Love's a Sweet Passion", from the libretto of Henry Purcell's  _The Fairy-Queen_ , act 3.

 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

Lydia empties her red cup again, drinking all that remains in one gulp and feeling warm all over but not quite drunk, not yet.

She watches with scrutinizing attention to detail everyone that passes her by, from those who are too high on drugs to understand what they’re doing, to those who run outside so that they can throw up on the lawn. From betrayed individuals that want nothing but to get out of there, to their significant others who rush behind them to see if they’ll be granted a second chance. From couples that flirt for the first time, to those that sneak to the upper floor to fuck inconspicuously.

It all seems ethereal, Lydia thinks, as if she’s watching the room from behind a veil. Everything in plain sight but too far from her reach, and if that’s not a metaphor for her fucked up life she doesn’t know what is.

Lydia resumes walking to get another drink (she can't decide between water to subside the headache that she knows is coming, or something stronger than the mildly alcoholic beverage she was just drinking to worsen the hangover she can already foresee because honestly, she just doesn't care), the music blaring from the speakers with a volume that leaves her slightly disoriented as she bumps into sweaty bodies and grabby hands that cause the redhead to scrunch her nose in disgust as she makes her way to the improvised bar.

She doesn't have it in her to do something about that invasive closeness though, because the alcohol will help her forget about all of this as the night goes, like it always does.

Well not always, she knows, but it sure as hell helps and she’ll take that any day.

Lydia adjusts her shirt to show a little more cleavage before bending over the counter to get the bartender's attention; a girl that Lydia recognizes from one of her classes. She’s busy with other students, each in their own degree of sobriety or lack thereof and Lydia has never hated being in college so much.

The other girl has at the very least twenty other people to tend to and she's all alone behind the counter at the moment, and the fact that she’s been eyeing Lydia ever since college started just over two years ago doesn’t get the redhead another drink any faster, regardless of how impatient Lydia is to get one. As far as she knows, the other girl is bisexual much like herself and her name is Caitlin, so she thought that maybe a little flirting would help her out because seriously, Lydia just needs to get drunk.

Or rather, she just wants to forget.

Apparently luck doesn't seem to be on Lydia's side tonight, because the group of jocks at the other end of the bar are certainly taking their time demanding the bartender’s attention, and Lydia wouldn't want to get the girl into trouble just because she can't handle her own problems properly and needs another drink sooner rather than later.

The redhead huffs in annoyance, resigned for the moment. Turning around to lean against the counter as times passes and she waits for her turn, Lydia studies her surroundings once more, always watching.

Her eyes land on _his_ almost immediately, for at least the fifteenth time that night if Lydia recalls correctly. It may have been more since she’s already a little tipsy, but she can't help but to be lured in once again. _He_ is not exactly the type she usually goes for, not at all, not too build but lean instead, tall and with dark hair, brown eyes that seem to glow when the right light hits them, long fingers that make Lydia wonder if they're any good where it matters.

She's been watching him all night and it's the first she's ever seen him around. In all honesty, she doesn't know what seems so inviting about him but for sure there is something calling her name, pulling her in, catching her attention in a way that it hasn't for a long time and fuck it, Lydia _wants_ him. It's been nearly four months since she's been with someone and tonight is as good a night as any to be fucked by a stranger.

And don't get her wrong, she doesn't do this as often as she used to anymore, not since she started getting better after everything around her fell apart. Obviously she’s still not healing as she should but Lydia still needs the distraction that it provides, the thrill of it. She still needs to get her mind off of things when it’s all too much to bear.

And deep down, she just wants to feel _something_.

Something that makes her forget that she's alone in this world and has no one, that her life truly fucking sucks, and anything that makes her forget about it is welcome in her book.

Even if it’s just for one night.

_He_ stares back at her from across the room, sitting on one of the couches while he sips on his beer distractedly. He’s by himself just like her, Lydia thinks, and hasn’t made a move at all for the almost three hours that she’s been at the frat party and finding herself staring at him. He’s just there, almost wallowing, his eyes with a lack of spark that Lydia would recognize anywhere.

It’s the same dull, empty gaze she finds every day when she looks at herself in the mirror.

Their eyes have locked occasionally throughout the night but neither has done anything so far, the guy drinking on the couch as Lydia moves around the room with a cup in hand, trying to find a better spot to watch everyone else come and go, trying to find someone who can put her mind at ease at least for the time being but she finds that her eyes keep diverting inexplicably to where he’s been.

He holds her stare for a bit longer this time, his fingers tapping on the bottle as he lets his eyes wander over her form appreciatively, returning to her own when he’s seemingly pleased.

Lydia smirks.

It vanishes quickly though, when he decides to finally get up from his seat and make his way towards her. He stumbles twice in a manner that Lydia believes relates more to his character than however drunk he may be, which she thinks isn’t that much from what she’s been able to gather from him all night. Her eyes never leave his as he shortens the distance between them and it’s refreshing, honestly _new_ to Lydia that instead of making a move right away, he stops at her left and places his empty bottle of beer on the counter as she stares up at him warily, their elbows brushing together as they face away.

Even though she likes the game, Lydia finds herself apprehensive at times.

She doesn’t want love. She doesn’t want happy endings and she doesn’t want strings attached. She just wants a distraction, someone who can leave her mind blank for one night so that she can go back to torturing herself the next morning because it’s all that she can allow herself to have from time to time.

It’s all she knows.

It’s all she deserves.

And nothing is gonna change that.

When he glances back at her, Lydia finds it intriguing how his eyes - looking lost and almost devoid of emotion - remind her of her own so much that she’s hit with an urgent feeling of selflessness before she can put her walls back up.

It hasn’t happened in so long that Lydia gets distracted for a bit, and doesn’t really acknowledge that he’s talking to her until he raises his tone enough for Lydia to focus on his voice over the noisy music.

“What are you drinking?”

Lydia doesn’t allow herself to waver any more than that, however. Never.

Not even when she wants to.

“Vodka,” she decides, “if the bartender gets to serve me anytime tonight.” She replies quickly, tilting her head in the brunette’s direction with a frown.

“Hey, Caitlin,” the stranger yells, surprising Lydia. The bartender turns to face him at the sound of the familiar voice and smiles at him warmly. The redhead watches their interaction carefully, silent beside him. “I’m taking one, alright?” He says, reaching over the counter and taking one vodka bottle from a hidden nook which Lydia would have never guessed was there.

The girl, Caitlin, just nods and gets back to work while the guy snatches a bottle opener as well, offering both items to the redhead who is looking at him like she’s forever grateful. Their fingers linger for a beat too long as she wraps her fingers around the bottle before opening it easily, admiring how others would have opened it for her and maybe put something in her drink while he obviously hasn’t. He doesn’t strike her as the type, anyway. “Thanks.”

“She’s in my dorm. I know her, so I get privileges. I’ll just pay her later,” he explains nonchalantly, taking a swig when Lydia offers the bottle to him after she drank first.

“Oh, you don’t have to pay for me.”

He gives Lydia a cheeky, playful grin, and if Lydia were to ever care she’d say it was almost endearing. Still, it didn’t escape her how it didn’t reach his eyes. “Who said I was paying for you?” He quips teasingly.

“How could I ever repay you the favor, then?”

She doesn’t mean for it to sound flirty even though she doesn’t mind at all that it does. She just really wanted another drink and she’s glad that he stepped in to aid her in such a moment of need.

“You looked like you could use a drink and I thought I could help. I’m just glad to know that I did.” The words are honest, but he doesn’t tell her that it’s because she reminded him of himself when he’s in need of a cloudy mind so bad that it shows, but he has a feeling that she is aware of that anyway.

For a second, Lydia wonders if he can read minds or if he’s actually not so good at flirting not to use an opening like _that_. Either way, she finds herself immediately curious.

“If you get me another one, we can dance,” she offers, a mischievous smile taking over her plushy pink lips that makes his heart skip a beat even if he doesn’t notice it.

He leans in to speak in her ear, taking advantage of the excuse that she might not hear him with the music so loud. “And who said I want to dance?”

Lydia smirks again, taking a good look at his features now that he’s closer, noticing for the first time several moles across his cheeks and neck that honestly only make him look more distinctive, better, _hotter_. She wonders where else he has them… “You _did_ come all the way here from across the room, now didn’t you?”

They stare at each other intently as if the first one who looks away is gonna lose a game they never really agreed to, hearts beating slightly faster as time passes them by and neither moves.

He's the first to break the tension - a very welcome tension if he might say so, for it's been so long since he's felt such a thing and he needs it, craves it to his core because he just needs to feel _something_. He reaches over the counter again to grab another bottle, with an amused grin as he raises his eyebrows playfully at the redhead beside him. He gets a chuckle out of her unexpectedly, which is an occurrence that doesn't happen often to Lydia anymore.

He suspects as much. He’s been in such a position a few times before - hell, he’s _in_ that position right now - and honestly he doesn't know where it comes from, so naturally.

In truth, neither does she.

It surprises them both and it’s like they don’t know how it feels to be happy anymore, but they don’t have it in them to care much about it.

In return he gives her a small smile in understanding, at least pleased to see how beautiful she looks when she seems contended. Just contended but not happy, because it's blatant to him that she's probably just as miserable as he is and seems to be looking for the same thing. Her eyes remind him of his own when he looks at himself in the mirror sometimes, empty at best, but contended nonetheless even if for a fleeting second.

She surprises even herself when it happens and how, almost effortlessly, the laugh escapes her, so Lydia drinks a little more to make sure that it doesn't happen again.

"We'll share," he tells her, opening the second bottle for himself.

Lydia raises her own and nods in thanks. “I’ll drink to that.”

It’s surprising to both of them how well the other can handle their alcohol. On his part he never thought that someone so small as her could ever drink vodka that fast but she does, almost as if it’s water, and to her it’s only unexpected in the way that he doesn’t get grabby or more flirty - _inconvenient_ is what she actually means - or just plain stupid like most men do as they get more and more drunk.

She would know.

Unfortunately, she would know.

Instead they just stand there, close to the bar and to each other finishing their drinks in silence as they occasionally check the other out, testing the waters. It’s different, Lydia thinks, and unexpected and intriguing and so, so interesting that Lydia will be damned if she gets out of this party tonight without having a taste of _him_.

They finish drinking practically at the same time, and before he knows it she’s grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him to the dance floor, their bottles forgotten on the counter behind them.

He doesn’t dance, not really, but if a girl this beautiful wants you to do something, you do it, no questions asked. He knows that if his life wasn’t as fucked up as it is, this girl would have never picked him tonight, not in a million years, and that she’s only doing it because he’s broken and damaged and because he can tell that she is the same.

That’s probably what, in a way, seems appealing to her about him.

He doesn’t care though because if he’s right, if they want the same thing and that’s to just feel something for a change and forget about whatever torments them even if only for a night, a distraction from however damaged they might be, he’s in.

He’s so in and god, he could seriously use a distraction right now. Tonight is not a good night for him at all.

It surprises him how her thought process is apparently similar to his own. Already in the middle of the improvised dance floor (the fraternity’s living room, even if he doesn’t know which frat house it is), the redhead lets go of his hand and faces him head on, getting up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, her hands grabbing at his shirt for leverage and not so subtly to feel his torso under her touch. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Good” it’s all he replies with, and it’s honestly all he was wanting and counting on.

He doesn’t want love. He doesn’t want happy endings and he doesn’t want strings attached. He just wants a distraction, someone who can leave his mind blank for one night so that he can go back to torturing himself the next morning because it’s all that he can allow himself to have from time to time.

It’s all he knows.

It’s all he deserves.

And nothing is gonna change that.

The beautiful girl smirks and turns around, moving closer to him until her back is pressed against his chest as she starts moving to the beat. If there’s something he’s learned since he started these “nightly adventures” of his almost two years ago, it’s that it is far easier not to get attached if he’s not looking the other person in the eyes for long. Thankfully, this girl seems to think the same thing.

A new song comes on and their heads throb with the loud music and the hard liquor that’s starting to kick in. His hands quickly settle on her hips to make sure that she’s as close to him as she possibly can be. Even if he doesn’t know how to dance well at all he sure figures out what to do, moving along with her and drinking her in.

She’s much shorter than him, even in heels, long fiery hair falling to her waist freely in loose curls that he believes smell vaguely of strawberry. She’s wearing a navy blue shirt with a low neckline that gives way to show her generous cleavage, tucked into a white skirt that is so short it barely leaves anything to the imagination. She has all the right curves in all the right places and he wonders briefly why he’s getting so lucky tonight, more so when she starts grinding on him and all he can do is pull her even closer, feeling her however she gives herself to him.

Her hands come up and reach behind her to rest on the nape of his neck and pull him down a little. Lydia tilts her head to allow him to do as he pleases, her nails softly scratching at the skin there making him shiver. In return, his hands start trailing up her waist, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he feels drunker by the minute.

She does too, her mind becoming fuzzier, free in a way that it hasn’t in a while. Lydia encourages him by keeping grinding on him, noticing soon enough how he’s becoming hard under her ministrations, which turns out to be a good surprise. The last three times she went out for a “distraction”, two of her partners were so drunk they could barely get hard and the third couldn’t finish.

She’s not a lucky girl.

His lips start moving on their own accord as well, tentative at first when he nibbles at her ear, slowly kissing her neck when he notices her relieved sigh at the initiative, his hands moving higher and higher, ever so slowly, teasing.

Lydia messes up her hair a little, suddenly feeling all too hot and not from the alcohol. She can’t for the life of her remember when was the last time that someone’s lips and tongue on her skin felt so soft and determined and just generally _good_ all at once so she gives in easily, his hands unhurriedly brushing up her flanks when Lydia rewards him by shamelessly rubbing herself against him.

His lips trail down her neck with longing kisses, all too lazily because he’s starting to lose track of time, and in his experience that’s a good thing. It means that his mind is drifting off and that’s exactly what he needs. He’s not even sure how long they stay like that, dancing close, his hands and lips on her skin, her hands on her hair and eventually on his, the music inducing them to a state of peace they haven’t reached in quite a while despite being surrounded by countless college students who are completely wasted, without much space to move freely at all.

Neither minds it though, their heads becoming lighter and lighter when a new song comes on, then another, a third starting and finishing before they even think about moving from where they are, alcohol starting to cloud their judgment. Lydia eventually turns around to put her lips on him too.

She pulls him down enough that she can suck a bruise on his collarbone, her fingers grazing his jaw and feeling the stubble there as she idly wonders how good it would feel in between her legs, chest against chest, his grasp firm on her sides but his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts almost ghostly. Lydia looks up at him then, his pupils completely dilated, his stare fuzzy, his mouth looking sinfully inviting.

It doesn’t even take her a second to crash her lips on his, reveling in the way he gives into it just as easily as she does, always trying to pull the other closer, their mouths moving together in a way that feels almost rehearsed. He’s good, she’ll give him that, knowing exactly when to slide his tongue along her bottom lip and taking advantage of the way she sighs into his mouth to deepen the kiss before she has the chance to do that exact same thing. He tastes of alcohol and more alcohol and mint, if she’s not mistaken. Something about the way he feels is comfortable to her, soothing, almost familiar in a way she can’t explain how.

His kiss is tentative only at first, soon turning adventurous as they move together almost rhythmically, her hands in his hair when his go back down to her waist again, the other way around when Lydia decides that she wants _more_.

Her fingernails rake over his shirt down his torso and abdomen and she’s pleased to find how his body reacts instantly under her touch. Her palms feel the muscles underneath the large t-shirt that he uses to hide in (she doesn’t really know why) before moving further down to feel how hard he is already.

Truthfully, she doesn’t care if someone in the room is watching them – which she thinks not. Too many drunk and/or high students around them, dancing or making out or just tripping to even notice them particularly –, but if someone is she doesn’t care anyway. If there’s one thing that Lydia Martin is not, it’s shy.

He doesn’t seem to mind much either, letting her do what she wants and breaking the kiss only so that his lips curve into a playful smirk. She wants nothing but to wipe it away.

She does think he looks so fucking good when he smirks, though…

Lydia goes in for another kiss just so that he stops looking deviously at her like that - not that she minds much, really - but the guy is smarter, quicker, dodging her advance teasingly just because he likes to play.

It’s the best thing he could have done, really.

Because she likes the game too, and it’s been too long since she has let herself enjoy it so Lydia gets lost in the feeling, deciding on kissing up his neck just to tease him but it doesn’t quite work in her favor. He’s taller than her enough that Lydia - who seriously doesn’t want to get on her tiptoes and lose her balance only to fall, now that she’s more than just tipsy – doesn’t quite reach his chin with her lips if he straightens completely, and impulsively he starts laughing quietly at her failed attempts.

It frustrates her, knowing that he has the upper hand like that but she likes it at the same time, craves it even. It’s been a while since she’s met someone who can rile her up like this, someone who can make her heart beat faster with something so innocent, and she needed it more than she’d ever be willing to admit even to herself. So when she stops and just looks up at him, the flashing lights around them making her see him as if in slow motion, he stops too, and she’d be lying if she said that his piercing warm eyes didn’t turn her on more than anything else in that moment.

It’s instinctive really, and in a second she’s pressing herself back against his body, tilting his chin down to try and effectively kiss him fully on the lips but he doesn’t let it, playing her again, dodging her advance once more with a kind smile. She doesn’t mind much, enjoying the chase and the freedom of making wise decisions that comes with her state of inebriation. Her fingers lace behind his neck as she stays unmoving in the middle of all the restless bodies that sway with the music around them.

He does the same thing, his hands settling on her hips instead only to move lower and lower. When his fingers dig softly into the flesh of her ass and squeeze once, they’re nose to nose again, and he’s the one who tries to kiss her this time but can’t when she avoids him as well, mimicking him, biting on her lower lip enticingly.

Lydia can’t for the life of her say how long they stay like that, so very close to kissing and so very _not_ , lost in a state that’s almost hypnotic, their eyes never breaking contact even with the flashing lights. When they do give in, Lydia thinks it’s one of the best kisses she’s ever had, all the anticipation more than making up for the wait. The kiss is slow and soft at first, growing demanding and urgent as time passes them by, and it’s not before long that one of her hands is sneaking underneath his shirt only to feel hot skin and barely defined muscles under her palm.

She’s not sure who is the first to move but the fact of the matter is that Lydia finds herself walking backwards and pulling him along with her, slowly so that their lips don’t part, connected as if they’re the life support the other needs. Nothing about it is rushed or unintended, and for such a small room Lydia thinks it takes them an eternity to reach the wall closest to the stairs.

He likes to take his time, she gladly notices, which turns out to be another pleasant surprise about him. On all the other previous occasions when Lydia had allowed herself to have a distractive encounter of the sort, by now she’d be more than done, and certainly not satisfyingly at that. In such a state of drunkenness, her partners have always favored celerity over pleasure, over fun, and so Lydia finds herself lingering now, tasting his mouth and savoring his touch almost lazily.

He pins her against the wall gently. In fact, Lydia barely registers that he did it, only noticing that she’s against a flat surface when his body is even closer to hers than before, and now she can feel him, jeans tight where he’s hard against her. If Lydia parts her legs slightly and he eases in between them just enough to create some friction where she most needs it… Well, she’ll list it as a very fortunate coincidence on such a lucky night.

She idly thinks that the planets must be aligned tonight for such fortuity.

They lose track of time completely. The dry humping must last for quite a while, they figure, for Lydia’s underwear is completely damp by the time she pushes him away, the same way she’s positive that he’ll have to discard of his jeans sooner rather than later given the very visible tightening of his pants.

Either that or they are both extremely turned on by the other right now, which is more than likely if they’d stop to think about it. They weren’t lowly moaning just for the other to hear for no reason, after all.

Either or, really. But what does it matter?

Lydia feels her neck and left shoulder burn under his ministrations, a little sore even, and she knows she’ll have bruises all over when morning comes because his mouth is insatiable for her skin, it seems, but that’s not what makes her stop him. It’s the wanting for more, the _need_ for it. Pushing softly against his chest and looking him over, Lydia realizes that he’s breathless, hair tousled where her hands had been mercilessly tugging at, lips full from her ministrations, eyes hooded by pure lust, and _god_ he’s so beautiful.

A true sight for sore eyes.

And in that moment, Lydia thinks time stills.

Because for a fleeting second, amidst all the people around them, the throbbing sound of the music and the flashing, bright lights that envelop them, Lydia wonders if this is _it_. If this can be what Allison had once said to her. How one day they’d both find someone who’d make everything bearable and unbearable all the same. How they’d find someone who’d make everything look different, brighter, better. How they’d find someone who’d take their breath away at the smallest thing and who’d make their heart fill with happiness like never before. How everything unknown in their lives would make sense when they’d meet their other halves. How all the unconscious longing and missing someone they’d never met would be repaid with care and love and companionship, with unwavering devotion and trust when the right time came. How they’d find someone who’d finally make them feel at peace.

How they’d find someone who’d finally make them feel _at_ _home_.

For a fleeting second, Lydia’s heart both skips a beat and crumbles at the thought that maybe her best friend hadn’t been just a dreamer. That maybe there was some truth to her words. Staring into kind eyes that look like molten gold in that moment, Lydia thinks that maybe Allison had been right all along. That maybe there’s still hope that everything in her fucked up life will one day make sense.

But Lydia can’t take that thought. Allison will never have such a thing, will never feel such an emotion and neither will Lydia. She knows it.

She knows because her best friend is no longer. The most beautiful, kindhearted, nicest girl in the whole world will never get to learn and experience new things and Lydia will never be able to see her heartwarming smile again. Lydia will never hear the other girl’s laugh at her own typical antics, or be able to lean on her best friend again in times of hurt and distress.

The brunette was taken away from her just when Lydia most needed her, when they both most needed each other. And if Lydia regrets anything, regardless of how much suffering she’s endured throughout her own twenty years of life, Lydia regrets that she’ll never see Allison fall in love the most. If anyone deserved everything good in this life and the other it was her late best friend, and if Allison will never have the chance to have everything, _anything_ , why should Lydia?

And so, as soon as that fleeting second brings Lydia a wave of nostalgia as she gets lost in _his_ eyes, the feeling is gone, and if the memories of Allison that popped into her mind so quickly served any purpose at all other than to hurt her, it was certainly to remind Lydia why she puts herself in this position from time to time. Why she finds herself occasionally looking for someone who can make her forget everything.

Because truth is in the end Lydia is all alone, and most times not even the alcohol or distractions will help her miss out on that.

Ignoring the whirlwind of remembrances and emotions that flashed through her mind so rapidly, Lydia swallows dryly before composing herself. Standing straighter, her fingers rake down the guy’s torso and she leans back in, hoping he didn’t see her waver in that damned second.

If he did, he doesn’t show it, deciding instead to grip her thighs. Lydia would be lying if she said it didn’t feel, even if only momentarily, like he was anchoring her.

She kisses him chastely, briefly, and bites on his lower lip enticingly before pulling away biting down on her own, lust taking over her. Rising on her tiptoes carefully, Lydia whispers in his ear, her lips ghosting close to his skin enough to have it break into goosebumps even if he’s anything but cold. “Please tell me you have a condom.”

He smirks confidently, wiggling his eyebrows in an effort to try and make her feel better because yes, he did notice how her gaze emptied all of a sudden, and with it came a rushing feeling of urgency to suppress his own afflictions, so it’s better that they stick to what they want instead of what they can’t deal with. Meaningless sex they can handle.

“Yeah, in my wallet,” he tells her, nodding. “Back pocket.”

Lydia moves closer once more, lips barely touching his as she reaches to take his wallet out for him and squeezing his ass cheek in appreciation, a grin appearing on her face as she searches for the condom under his smitten gaze. When she finds it and looks it over, she returns the wallet to him and waves the little foil packet as if it is a prize. “Upstairs?” She asks, a sly smile making his blood boil in his veins.

He doesn’t hesitate in taking the condom from her and leading the red-haired girl to the upper floor, hands clasped tight together to make sure he doesn’t lose her in the crowd that still surrounds them. And to make sure they have a little privacy, they search the entire floor for an empty, more secluded bedroom but find none open, instead opting for the only bathroom available down the hall.

It looks neat, Lydia registers, which she’s sure it’s only due to the room being so far away from the staircase and having another two bathrooms on its way. Those Lydia suspects have to look much messier, so this isn’t a half bad deal. Granted, she usually favors comfort but her mind is clouded still and so is her judgment, and in that moment she needs nothing but to have her mind completely blank so she’s not gonna be picky.

By the end of the night, she’ll have to admit to herself, it couldn’t have been a better choice.

The guy makes sure to lock the bathroom door behind them and turns on the lights, placing the condom on top of the marble counter where two fancy sinks are, catching his attention. In all truth, he hadn’t paid much thought - none, really - to the house overall, but a glance at the elegant decoration around the big room tells him it has to be majestic. Not only this bathroom is almost as large as his dorm room and has one of the biggest showers he has ever seen, but there’s an imposing mirror covering the entire wall behind the faucet, a long rectangle reflecting everything from the counter up until a little over his height.

As soon as he sees it, he knows they’ve made a right choice too. It may be a first for them both, yes, but neither is mindful enough to care about it in the moment.

Much like her, however, that thought will come to mind later.

Lydia walks backwards slowly until her back hits the edge of the counter, and he’s pressed up against her in a second, holding her close in a heated kiss that escalates quickly given the arousal they were already feeling. Their hands roam each other’s body unashamed now that they’re finally alone, and soon they’re both feeling more out of breath than they have been in a very long time.

He takes a step back first, panting with flushed cheeks and Lydia is grateful, for once, that the lights are on. She usually prefers to do it in the dark, a way of detachment that Lydia often needs but tonight feels different, _is_ different already from all the other times she’s done this. Had they been in complete darkness, Lydia wouldn’t be able to appreciate properly how beautiful his eyes really are even if the spark that lights them now, she knows, won’t be there for long if she’s right and they’re in a similar situation.

He looks young too, probably about her age, and Lydia tugs at his shirt for him to take it off so that she can admire his physique, a playful smile on her lips as curiosity takes over. He hesitates for a second, and she sees in his eyes how he seems to debate with himself for a moment but gives in nonetheless, and when his shirt his thrown mindlessly somewhere to his left, Lydia can just stare.

He’s lean, definitely not the sports players Lydia typically chooses for her nightly endeavors, muscles defined without pushing it too much and Lydia just honestly finds herself openly staring, speechless, wondering how she could easily lose herself counting the moles that she gladly realizes are scattered throughout his body, on his chest and shoulders and arms like they do on his face. How he’s obviously strong but in a modest, surprising way. Her mind wanders, and she gets lost in thought trying to decide which sport he does practice to be so subtly defined like that. With that, Lydia realizes that maybe he is her type a little bit after all, mauling over the reason why he’d choose to hide in large clothes since Lydia can’t fathom one.

He’s gorgeous. A vision really, with the unruly hair and fair eyes, the playful smile and the distracting moles, the veiny arms and the long fingers, the firm and warm hands. Her eyes wander lower, naturally, and Lydia loses herself in the trail of dark hair that dips into his jeans, biting on her lip distractedly. It isn’t until the guy crosses his arms, unintentionally flexing his biceps and shifting Lydia’s attention again, that she’s reminded of the matter at hand.

She moves slowly as if in a trance, her fingers softly grazing his broad shoulders while her stare lazily roams up his body and she finds herself wanting to catalog everything about him. The reason why, she wouldn’t know. He is different from the others in such a manner that Lydia can’t understand, not yet, but in such a short amount of time he’s caught her eye, has her intrigued beyond comparison in a way that she hasn’t been in so, so long.

Without realizing it, her breath quickens and Lydia licks her lips absently, forgetting about everything else in that moment but to study him, as if staring at him for long enough will help her figure him out. As if she’d ever even wanted that in the first place.

Confused, he raises his brows quizzically, half in amusement and half in insecurity, Lydia notices, as if he wasn’t expecting such a blatant reaction from her. He must feel self-conscious, she realizes, probably one of the reasons why he doesn’t dress for his body size and shape. “Surprised?” He questions in a tone that’s teasing, but it doesn’t escape Lydia how his voice falters a little.

The redhead replies with an honest, breathy “Yes”, and if her cheeks redden at the admission she’ll blame it on the alcohol. Still, he doesn’t seem convinced as he asks her if it’s a good surprise or a bad one, and when Lydia realizes that his anxiety is coming to the surface she wants nothing but to make it go away. Their shitty lives have to be the reason why they’re in this position, and if he’s anything like Lydia the last thing he wants right now is to feel insecure or alone in this, so Lydia takes the reigns to make sure that it doesn’t happen.

“It’s a very, very good surprise,” she almost hums, the blasting sound from the music downstairs muffled by the distance between them and the living room where the party is being held at, and so he can finally hear her melodic voice perfectly.

And if it suddenly makes it feel all the more intimate, neither comments on it.

“In fact…” She continues, reaching for the hem of her top and pulling it over her head, discarding of it swiftly. The boy tries his hardest to keep eye contact and succeeds, which only makes Lydia more intrigued by him. Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, she smiles sweetly. “In the spirit of reciprocity.”

“Reciprocity, uh?” He murmurs, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he takes a step closer and rests his hands on her waist. Their lips touch again, barely, as if they can’t help but to gravitate towards each other. Still, yet without kissing.

Instead, they stay close like that for a beat too long, a breath too many and Lydia finds herself warming up again at their proximity, eyes locked with his, her voice raw when she barely acknowledges that she’s whispering “Yes” to his wanting lips, and if their mouths finally crash together after that, seeking more, she sees it as inevitable.

He’s good with his hands, she’ll give him that too, slowly but expertly mapping her body with his fingertips as they lose themselves in a heated kiss. When his hands find her covered breasts, his lips part from hers so that he can look down and finally give her bosom the appreciation it deserves, and he’s so tender then that Lydia almost wants to cry. Usually men just want to ravish women’s breasts as if they’re nothing but an accessory, a toy that they can play with as they please, barely none registering that it is an erogenous zone that can be rather sensitive. But him…

Lydia doesn’t know what turns her on more; if the soft, teasing brush of his fingers or the knowledge that lies within. It’s obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing, that he knows how to work a woman up, that he knows how to make her want even more of him if that’s possible. She chooses to look past it though, and to just focus on how grateful she is that she’s found _him_ tonight, forcing herself to forget everything else but him and his body, and what him and his body can do to her and her own.

He cups her breasts fully, gently, the pad of his thumb slowly brushing her nipple over the black lace and he feels it hardening under his touch. Lydia should resent the way her body responds to him so eagerly but she doesn’t, not at all when he decides to keep on doing that and to take her earlobe in his mouth, nibbling softly, and her hands come up to run through his hair again. She’s so distracted in fact, that she doesn’t remember pulling him even closer to her body but he is, his fingers languidly tracing the underside of her breasts, mindlessly drawing circles on her skin as they venture lower, her chest fully against his when their mouths meet once more.

He can feel how warm she is, how breathless she’s becoming so he continues, incited by her response. When they find themselves tangled up in each other and grinding again, Lydia lets out a low moan, too worked up and yet not nearly enough. He smirks, the bastard, teasing her and Lydia bites on his lower lip as playful punishment, his hands sliding from her waist to her lower back and pulling at the end of her auburn curls then, gently enough that he’s not hurting her but surely enough having her notice it, and Lydia finds herself tilting her head and letting his lips work their magic on the skin of her neck.

He’s delighted to do so, she finds, for his erection stands to attention against Lydia’s frame and her own hands wander lower as well, her nails scratching down his torso and making his abs react at her touch once again. She lets out a little laugh, uncaring at the moment about what all of this means, distracting herself by fumbling with his belt until it’s thrown to the floor mindlessly and then concentrating on unbuttoning his jeans. When he sucks another bruise, this time just under her chin, Lydia doesn’t hesitate in pushing his pants out of the way enough so that she can shove a hand down his boxers to finally feel him on her palm, and to say the least she’s very, very well impressed.

Granted, she had already palmed him when they were downstairs in the living room, but the fabric of his jeans doesn’t really make him justice. He’s not abnormally big or large, not by any means, but he’s definitely more endowed than average and more so than Lydia would take him for at first glance. So yes, to say that she’s thrilled that they chose each other tonight is an understatement.

He lets out a low grunt, both at her initiative and at the feeling of her hands on him, her touch nothing short of divine if he were to be asked. And when she slowly starts pumping him, smearing the pre-cum already there and her grip on his erection not too tight but not so loose either, he guy breathes out shakily, losing himself in the feeling until her voice breaks the silence.

“Tell me you’re clean,” she asks almost shyly, her tone too desperately hopeful when she realizes that she should have asked it before her hands were on him, the adrenaline dissipating the cloud on her mind a little and apprehension in her tone, her hand stopping for a moment.

His eyes search hers for a second and he smiles kindly, nudging her nose with his own when he realizes what she’s asking. “Yeah. STI free,” he says honestly. “And you?”

Lydia nods more eagerly than she’d like to ever admit. “Me too. And I’m on the pill,” she tells him in the name of full disclosure, ready to have more of him.

It should make her stop, _it should_ , this being _different_ , because she’s not supposed to be enjoying herself so much. When there’s nothing in her life but darkness around every corner, when that’s all she knows for the time being, why should she be blessed like this? Why would some guy have the gift to make her feel so alive? Worse even, why would she _let_ him?

She shuts her inner voice by tightening her grip around his erection just the tiniest bit but he can tell the difference, of course. When she focuses on the head for a moment and then another, after that gently fondling with his balls and continuing with her ministrations, his eyes fall shut and his mouth parts as he sighs softly, her lips trailing hot kisses on his chest distractedly as she works him up.

And then he opens his eyes.

He opens his eyes and Lydia swears that it’s the most burning gaze she’s ever held, making her insides clench as he worries his lower lip, breathing labored, eyes hooded by an unmistakable awe that Lydia has never really witnessed first-hand before. Vocally she can’t respond, she finds, but her hand moves of her own accord and starts jerking him off faster in response. In a swift movement though, after a minute or two he stops her, his voice dropping an octave.

It feels as if he finds it hard to speak as well. “I’m close.”

His cock is heavy and hot against her palm, and she knows for a fact that she’s good with her hands as well but having him so close to ejaculating in such a short amount of time has to be her personal record.

As if he’s reading her mind, he adds “Well, _you_ _’re something_ ” with a fond voice and a smile she can’t really decipher, quiet and enigmatic.

She releases her grip on him and a beat passes them by, then a second one, and in the third Lydia’s lips are on his again for what seems like the hundredth time that night, gentle yet consuming. He lingers despite his best efforts not to and he finds that she’d doing the same thing, so for a moment they’re silent, their lips the only part of their bodies that’s touching before he leans his forehead against hers and breaks the kiss, eyes closed.

He doesn’t know that hers are too as she takes it all in. Under her skin, she feels a tingle she’s never felt before and an unprecedented exhilaration, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage as Lydia forces herself to open her eyes and make the moment less intimate, but she can’t. Instead, her lips find his again and she cups his cheeks, and had she known that he was feeling the exact same way in that moment maybe she would have stopped.

In the end, the very end, she’ll know she did the right thing by giving in to her instinct.

However, in the moment, she can’t help but to feel a little scared of what all of this might mean, so this kiss is unsure and tentative whereas the others had had more blaze to them. It’s almost vulnerable, and the emotion in this connection is so strong and raw that the guy, who was feeling resistant to giving in for the same reason she was, finds himself letting go too.

Lydia can’t do anything but to follow after as if her will lies with him completely, and soon they’re losing themselves in the kiss again. Feeling dissatisfied to a degree neither of them wants to logically comprehend as things get hotter and more desperate, he struggles with her skirt as Lydia steps down of her heels and pushes them aside with one foot carelessly, losing height all of a sudden. They both part chuckling, him at how adorably short she really is and Lydia at his vain attempts of getting rid of the garment.

Cheeks flushed, Lydia unzips her skirt easily and takes it off, sliding it down her fair legs and handing it to him in a playful display of victory. He laughs and scratches the back of his neck almost bashfully before taking the fabric out of her hands and placing it in the far end of the counter behind her, his fingers hooking on the sides of her matching panties to slowly starting pulling them down.

Lydia bites down on her lower lip once more, enticed and more turned on than she’s probably ever been, more so when he starts moving down her body, his lips marking her just under her chin again, then pressing a feather-light kiss in between her covered breasts and another on her stomach. As he kneels in front of her, Lydia idly wonders if this is how she’ll die.

She’s pretty sure she’s about to combust just from the anticipation.

A demanding, urgent knock on the door followed by two others startles her out of her reverie, and it seems to disconcert her partner for the night as well since he scrambles back up to his feet as if he’s been caught red-handed, both their hearts beating faster from the scare, cheeks flushed bright red.

“You gonna take long in there?” A male voice asks in a shout from outside the bathroom door, the man’s fist repeatedly thumping against the wood.

Lydia and the boy share a cautious look, both from how unexpected the interruption was and from the insistence of the knocking.

Her partner answers before she can even think of urging him to do something. “It’s occupied,” he tries, hoping it’s enough to make whoever is outside go away.

“Man, c’mon…” The words come out slurred, a speech that almost sounds sleepy, definitely uncaring. Lydia figures the guy outside the door is either drunk or high, maybe both. And he keeps whining. “All the other rooms are full.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” The brown-haired guy quips, signaling Lydia to keep quiet.

There’s more banging on the door. “Look, I got me a girl here. I’m just trying to get laid.”

A feminine giggle follows and Lydia’s partner groans lowly, giving her an apologetic look. “So am I. Will you just fuck off?”

Lydia chuckles and the guy can’t suppress a smile either, his body gravitating towards hers again as they wait for the response from the other side. It comes out slightly aggressive, although mostly wretched. “Where am I gonna fuck my girl, man?”

Her partner huffs in clear annoyance, rolling his eyes. “Sounds like that’s your problem, mate, not mine. Now will you just get out of here?”

For a moment there’s silence, and Lydia and the guy share another look, apprehensive. Then there’s what sounds like a slap on the door, final, before whoever was outside leaves them be.

Lydia wishes her laughter didn’t come out so naturally, but soon the guy is following suit, dissipating some of the tension in the room. He doesn’t comment on how she’d been surprised by her own chuckle before when they were downstairs and how it comes easier to her now, and Lydia is glad for that. In a way, he’s making Lydia feel free enough that she’s giving him a glimpse of a shadow of her old self, whereas she’s been nothing but an empty shell for the last couple of years, at the very least.

In all honesty, Lydia had never thought she’d see the day where she’d feel like her old self again, even if just faintly. And if it’s the guy, _this_ particular guy that’s bringing out this side of her or if she’s so drunk that she’s hallucinating the whole thing, Lydia is not really sure.

Or more likely, she prefers to pretend that her inebriation is enough reason to pass the unexpected feeling as some kind of mirage, instead of accepting that there could be more to _him_ than she’s ready to admit.

Pushing such terrifying thought aside, one of her hands rakes down his abdomen, bringing both their attentions to more pressing matters. A smirk appears on her lips and her eyes glimmer with mischief. “So you’re gonna fuck me, uh?”

He seems surprised at first, and Lydia thinks she sees insecurity crossing his eyes swiftly before he brushes it away, her fingers burning against his skin bringing him back to the moment. He tilts her chin up and whispers to her glistening lips, voice hoarse, barely an inch separating them. “If you let me.”

Lydia would be lying if she said that didn’t make her even wetter than she already was.

 She gets closer, her lips brushing his enticingly as the words come out of her mouth unhurried. “And if I let you, what will you do to me?”

He swallows dryly, his gaze moving from her green eyes to her beautiful pink lips and then back up before he answers breathily. “Anything.”

Lydia finds herself nodding fiercely, of course, as any sane person would in this situation or so she figures. Pulling his jeans further down his legs and out of the way, she grins smugly when she straightens back up, one of her hands grabbing his neck and pulling lightly. “I believe you were going down,” she remarks playfully, “before we were so rudely-”

“Interrupted, yeah.” He finishes for her, stealing a kiss from her lips and proceeding to worship her body like before; a soft kiss under her chin where he’d marked her just a couple of minutes ago, another in between her breasts and a third one on her lower belly this time. Promptly sinking to his knees, he licks his lips and locks eyes with her briefly, cheeks rosy and hair disheveled. Lydia thinks she’s never seen anyone look this good from her perspective.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, staring at her covered mound as if he’s deciding what is the best approach to the situation at hand as Lydia grows impatient for his touch. When he speaks though, all reserves about him vanish. “Hands or mouth?” He asks with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, leaving the choice to the redhead.

When she bites down on her lower lip – and she’s an almost sinful vision from his point of view too in all honesty, her fiery hair framing her like a warm halo -, he knows he did well in asking.

“Would I sound too eager if I said both?” She’s quick to answer, biting the nail of her left thumb nervously since even this seems to be different from everything Lydia has ever done before. It’s the first time she’s asked such a question and, again, it should make her stop. She doesn’t know if it’s the anticipation, but she feels overwhelmed.

Instead, she laughs when he replies cheekily, rather truthfully with “Not in my book”, and Lydia finds herself staring at him when he reaches up and pulls her hand away from her mouth, admonishing her. “Don’t do that.” When she glares at him inquisitively, implicitly asking why he’d do such a thing, his answer is factual and logical, just the way Lydia has always liked her facts. “ _That_ implies that you’re nervous, and so by extension I’ll be too. More than I really am, anyway, and that wouldn’t be good for uh-” He gestures between them. “ _This_. It wouldn’t be good for this so please don’t do that, okay?”

At this rate, he’ll have her orgasm without actually touching her.

He’s kind, almost too kind for her, and the thought that maybe Lydia doesn’t deserve him at all, even if only for one night, crosses her mind before she can do anything about it. He seems to be too good for words, leaving her speechless which almost never occurs, and maybe they really should just stop.

The thing is that Lydia is feeling selfish tonight and she’s allowed to be, every once in a blue moon, so that’s most definitely the reason why Lydia decides to look down at him and run a hand through his hair lazily, cheeks reddening a little before the words come out of her mouth unabashed. “Fuck me.”

She’ll deal with the consequences of her actions tomorrow.

Or not. Whatever.

His dick twitches when she hums the words and his chest rumbles with the guttural groan he lets out. “With pleasure,” he muses, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning. When the girl seems to wait for his instructions, his confidence boosts and he almost wants to high-five himself. He’s never really had the reigns before. Allowing his dirty mind to come out to play and locking eyes with the girl again, he’s assertive when he says “Turn around and bend over.”

She complies immediately, her grin deliciously warming him up inside before she turns to face the mirror and bends over the counter like he’d asked and it’s a crime really, that she looks so freaking desirable like that.

Even though her underwear is black, it’s with delight that he notices a darker spot where she seems to be damp and he licks his lips absently. When the redhead props her elbows on the counter and moves all of her hair to one side so that she can glance back at him over her shoulder, a lopsided smile makes its way to his lips.

Lydia doesn’t think she’s ever been this turned on in her life, regardless of how blurry her mind still is from the alcohol.

The fog on his own seems to lift a little when he starts concentrating on what he wants to do, mind reeling with possibilities. Teasing her covered folds with his knuckles, fingers precise and determined, he watches as her eyes close at the sensation and she sighs in what, to him, seems almost relief. Not wanting to waste much more time, he reaches for the sides of her panties again, and watches her take a deep breath as he slowly pulls the fabric down her legs, his face close to her center and Lydia can _feel_ his breathing on her skin.

Placing the underwear on top of her skirt on the counter, he runs a hand through his hair as if he’s preparing himself, feeling his skin prickling with energy, and before he can ask if the girl is really sure about this she mumbles “Just get on with it” with a little laugh, eyes sparkling, and he doesn’t hesitate. With his left hand splayed on her lower back to make sure that she stays in position, his right one parts her lips and he licks her once tentatively, a stripe that starts with a firm flick on her clit and that moves up to her entrance.

The moan she lets out at the sensation of his tongue on her is both arousing and downright dirty.

Such response entices him, and this is good because he doesn’t always get to come when he goes out to find a distraction from his problems, and tonight he might just get a chance for a change. At least, he knows he’s been much farther from it on previous encounters. Savoring her, a smug smile appears on his lips. “You’re so wet, god…” Because _that_ won’t make Lydia even wetter. “Taste so good.”

The redhead soon realizes that he must be an accomplished guy despite the reasons that have him fucking a stranger randomly, because he wastes no time in getting to work and not after long he just buries his face in between her thighs, as if it’s the end of the world and he’s determined to prevent it, a man on a mission, and the sounds he tears out of Lydia are at the very least obscene.

She’d care if he was to pause but he doesn’t, instead adding a finger after a good minute of eating her out, his movements excruciatingly slow as he works her up, then another finger after a few more moments, every so often rubbing her clit with his thumb in soft circles, his stubble only increasing her arousal against her sensitive skin, and the rhythmic motion he sets combined with how deliciously good his knuckles feel when he curls his fingers inside of her just slightly, trying to find her g-spot, not to mention the added sucking on her clit in the end is what has Lydia coming in record time. Not that she’s really keeping track (and she couldn’t really, lost in the feeling as she is), but she can’t for the life of her remember ever orgasming like this, so fast and so suddenly.

The waves of pleasure hit her out of nowhere, and Lydia can’t do anything but to grip the counter tightly as she pants, finding purchase on the edges of the surface while still riding his face.

He’s relentless, she discovers appreciatively, more so when he seems to want to go for another orgasm right away. Granted, it’s not that any girl in her right mind should object to that, but Lydia finds herself reaching behind herself to tug at his hair softly and pull him away. It’s gladly that she notices how splotched with red his chest is, how hard his erection seems to be as if he hasn’t touched himself at all.

If anything, it makes Lydia want him even more.

Mouth dry and licking her lips, her voice comes out hoarse and breathy. “I need you.”

She hadn’t meant for it to come out so desperate, voice raspy and low like a whispered plea, but he doesn’t hesitate for a second. “You can come again, right?”

Lydia feels hot all over, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she nods more fiercely than she probably ever has.

The guy gets up on his feet and, still standing behind her, reaches for the condom that has been beside her this entire time, just sitting on top of the counter and waiting to be of use. As he picks it up with his left hand, the fingers of his right in his mouth as he licks them clean, he notices how warm the redhead is, little droplets of sweat all over her hot skin and he decides to kiss her from down on her lower back to high up on her neck while he fumbles with the foil packet, tasting the saltiness right off her body. Griping her hips and noticing how her breath hitches at the contact, he kisses just behind her ear and proceeds to drag his lips along her jaw, stepping closer and Lydia can _feel_ him against her core.

She swears lowly at the proximity, watching him through the mirror as he finally puts on the condom and rolls it down expertly, stroking his erection a few times for good measure. When he aligns himself with her entrance, the head teasing her folds and earning what sounds like a wrecked wail from her mouth, he does what he knows he shouldn’t.

He locks eyes with her reflection in the mirror as if he already knew she was staring at him, green and amber meeting once more and they both know that they should look away but they can’t, nor do they want to in all truth, completely entranced by the other as if under a spell.

When he pushes in, slowly filling her, the way her eyelids fall closed for a second and her mouth parts to let out a sigh is almost a sinful vision, and surely all the more reason why he should look away but he can’t bring himself to do it. Because then her eyes open once more, and her gaze burns holding his own and he thinks, he _feels_ like if he was to die like this, to repent for his sins this way, he’d gladly accept death and never look away from her again.

She’s speechless for a moment and so is he, an unexpected current running through their bodies and the feeling of a subconscious realization taking over them even if their conscious, still slightly drunk selves can’t make out what it is. They decide to ignore it, logically, and as they’re both facing the mirror - their eyes never leaving the other’s reflection - he starts moving, fucking her just right, lazily thrusting at first and building a faster rhythm as times passes them by, as they start nearing what they came here for.

They completely lose track of time, that crescent flame pooling low in their abdomen taking over all of their senses as they let themselves go entirely, for once, and Lydia honestly couldn’t tell how long they actually fuck in some random fraternity’s bathroom. The only things she can focus on are the sounds they make as he slams into her harder and faster and Lydia meets him thrust for thrust, the way his left hand grips at her curls for a moment (not exactly pulling or hurting, but Lydia can tell that he’s completely distracted to notice he’s doing it) and how hot his right palm feels on her skin. Granted, she feels so hot that she almost seems to be feverish, but his hand honest-to-god burns against the skin of her right thigh and he keeps going, and going, and going.

Fleetingly, she wishes it will leave a mark just so that the next morning she can be sure that this was, indeed, real.

As she starts approaching her climax again, Lydia goes for what she always does. There hasn’t been a single nightly endeavor of hers ever since her life went to shit that hasn’t ended with her getting herself off in one way or another (really, either her partner is not so bad and she just lends a hand, or they end up being awful and unfulfilling and she’ll finish it by herself back at her place), so it’s only natural that her hand moves to place itself in between her legs.

The guy stops thrusting suddenly, the hand he had on her thigh catching her wrist and stopping it halfway to its destination, aware of what she was going to do. “Don’t touch yourself.”

His voice comes out low and hoarse, something she wasn’t expecting. If she bites down on her lower lip even more turned on, if that’s at all possible by now, she decides to believe it’s completely unrelated. The thought occurs to her too soon however, because he lets go of her wrist and it’s his own hand that settles on her waist and moves lower to her front until it’s in between her legs, and he bends over Lydia enough to place a kiss on her bare shoulder. Meeting her eyes in the mirror again, he whispers “Let _me_ do it” against the shell of her ear and Lydia thinks that _that_ is the hottest thing she’s heard from his mouth all night.

Lydia turns her head to face him, and he’s so close that she can feel his breath on her lips. It takes everything she’s got not to kiss him then, and it’s probably the most ardent desire she has had to suppress in her whole life. Instead, she finds herself nodding and rolls her hips just enough for him to smirk and start thrusting again, slower this time around as his index and middle fingers lazily circle her clit.

She thinks they both come at practically the same time, and the fire within is released so rapidly and powerfully that Lydia bends over the counter completely, the arm that held her up relaxing entirely and making her lose her support, and he’s still pulsing inside of her when he bends over her body as well, breathless yet still careful enough not to trap her completely with his weight, his hips still thrusting a few times as they ride out their orgasm.

Lydia is panting, honest to god gasping for air which had never happened before, and she feels truly satisfied for once, fulfilled in a way she doesn’t really think she ever has been. It isn’t until he’s pulling out of her that they lock eyes again. To her surprise, he smiles softly at first, his mouth splitting in a grin that Lydia - despite all the reasons she could enumerate not to - wouldn’t mind seeing again.

She smiles too, her cheeks reddening enough that he notices, and when she bites on her thumbnail this time he knows it isn’t out of nervousness but playfulness instead. His inner voice appeases him, tells him that he did good tonight. If anything, the girl seems happy for as long as the rush from what just happened remains, and if she’s feeling remotely close to how he is right now at least he thinks it might last for a little while longer than usual.

He can only hope the hangover he knows will come in the morning won’t wash away any memory of this.

“So…” He wets his lips briefly and chuckles to dissipate the tension. He honestly doesn’t think he’s met eyes so piercing before, and her gaze stays on his frame for as long as he discards of the condom. “That was something…”

Thankfully, he doesn’t see Lydia’s grin as he turns around to clean himself. If he hadn’t missed it, Lydia thinks it would have been too much in a night of exceptions after exceptions, and she already doesn’t have a clue as to what it all means, if anything, as it is. “I’ll say,” is all she lets out, the flirtatious tone slipping out accidentally even though she doesn’t really care in that moment, turning around to face him just as he pulls his boxers back on and buttons his jeans.

She gets a nice view of his ass when he bends over to grab his t-shirt from the floor, and it’s with regret on her part that he does it all too quickly. When he stands straight again, right in front of her, Lydia feels bare and not because the only item of clothing she still has on is her bra. She feels his gaze invading her soul, somehow. He stops and stares at her profoundly for an instant, utterly lost in thought before he’s brought back to reality and realizes what he was doing.

His hair is a complete mess, and Lydia can still notice the blush on his chest just above the collar of his t-shirt, as well as on his neck and cheeks. He gives her a lopsided grin and swiftly runs a hand through his unruly dark-brown hair. “I had fun tonight,” he states honestly, his pulse picking up.

“Me too,” she murmurs, her mouth feeling dry all of a sudden. “Thank you. I-” She hesitates, her subconscious telling her both to stop talking and to prolong the moment. She tries but finds no reason to lie to him. “I really needed this.”

There’s a silence that stretches for a few moments while neither can look away, and it’s her own heartbeat that picks up when he whispers back “That makes two of us, so I should thank you too.” She breaks the gaze, feeling overwhelmed at how vulnerable he sounded. How both of them did, really. He finds himself taking a step forward and holding out his hand for her, a kind smile on his lips.

As she looks at his outstretched hand, Lydia ponders her choices. After she debates with herself for a good ten seconds, she decides to take it. She’d be lying if she said that this wasn’t one of the most intimate things they did all night. Her eyes meet his and she thinks she has found solace, at last, and doesn’t realize that she’s openly staring at him until his voice breaks her out of her daze. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

The oddity of the name makes her raise an eyebrow inquisitively, amused. “Stiles? What the hell is a Stiles?”

He chuckles, used to this reaction from pretty much everyone he’s ever met. “It’s a nickname. Don’t ask,” he replies cheekily.

Lydia gets closer to him even if she doesn’t seem aware of it, looking up at him under her lashes. The light hits her eyes just right, allowing him to see how they appear to be emerald green, yet he’s met with specks that range from lighter to darker tonalities of green and brown as well and he’s left mesmerized.

She brings him back to the moment. “So you get to fuck me and I don’t get to know your name?”

Her question is playful and he laughs, leaning in so that they’re only an inch apart and she can feel his body heat once more. If Stiles doesn’t leave soon, she might have to do him again. To make matters worse, he licks his lips again and she feels the need to do it herself.

“Maybe I’ll tell you another time,” he answers, and it feels like an implied promise. Lydia wonders if she’ll hold him to it if she ever runs into him again.

“Well, I’m Lydia,” she offers. “And it was a pleasure meeting you.”

She’s never meant anything so wholeheartedly in her whole life and Stiles seems aware of it. He feels the same way as he replies with “Indeed” and they’re left like that, close yet not touching except for their hands, still holding on to a moment that neither wants to let go of.

When they do part and he takes a step back, breaking the spell, Lydia feels a part of her walking away with him. Strangely, she finds it, as such has never happened before and she doesn’t know what to make of it. Stiles walks to the door with a sigh and unlocks it, turning back to glance at Lydia one last time and to say “I’ll see you around” before he heads out.

In a moment he’s gone and Lydia is left alone, naked in the middle of the unfamiliar bathroom with her disarrayed thoughts, and she can’t for the life of her explain why she’d ever want to go after him.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t go out to parties looking for a Stiles on my account. We’re not all as lucky as Lydia lol
> 
> Please leave a review and let me know what you think. You can check all the Pinterest boards for my fics [here](https://pt.pinterest.com/youmakemewander/)


End file.
